Mornings
by no cure for crazy
Summary: Abby always steals Townsend's shirt to sleep in and he secretly loves it and how she looks in the mornings.


AN: Written based on a head canon from gallaghergirlsheadcanon tumblr. The fact that it's Abby and Townsend makes it all better because I can't get enough of these two and I can so easily actually see this happening.

Disclaimer: I'm not Ally Carter

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><p><em>303. Abby always steals Townsend's favorite shirt to sleep in. Townsend loves that it always smells lightly of her.<em>

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><p>Mornings<p>

The sunlight slowly pours through the window, filling the room with natural light – a light breeze filters in from the window she opened when she first woke up. She loves the feel and early morning smell. The rising sun illuminates the city and the small room – growing more vivid with the passing time, making the sky more radiant as it climbed higher.

She stands in the middle of the kitchen, holding a coffee mug in her hands. A discarded newspaper sitting on the counter behind her – tossed away once she lost interest in it and the headlines.

She takes a sip of the dark liquid in her mug, allowing it to warm her from the inside out.

If there's one thing she needs in the morning. It's coffee.

Coffee and the sun rise are her favorite things about the morning.

She loves how everything is still quiet and serene right before the busy bustle of the day starts. Everything's calm and content – exactly how she feels in the mornings.

He walks in from the bedroom, still wearing his pajamas pants. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it when his eyes land on her and what she's wearing.

Or not wearing.

She's clad only in shorts and one of his shirts, only a few of the middle buttons clasped together – showing a bit more skin that it covers. Not to mention, her hair's pulled back into a loose messy bun with strands falling out of the hair tie, a few framing her face.

She holds the mug in her hands in front of her chest as her gaze falls on him.

She raises an eyebrow as she leans against the counter. "Cat got your tongue, Townsend?" she teases. If there's one thing she loves, it's teasing him – especially playful teasing early in the morning in the privacy of her apartment.

He shakes his head, already used to the thieving qualities of Abby. He should learn not to question it anymore. It's an everyday occurrence. "I should have known. Whenever any of my stuff disappears, it's always because of you, Abigail."

He steps further into the room and steps around her to prepare breakfast.

Abby just rolls her eyes, trying not to laugh. She fails and a small chuckle falls from her lips.

It's usually the same thing every morning – she doesn't care enough to constantly control her actions like she would if they were in public. She's far too relaxed and comfortable to care.

It's still weird to her to finally admit that she feels at home around Townsend. Given their tense history of constantly being at the other's throats. But she can and she's maybe more than okay with that.

That's one thing she never thought she'd say. Of course she would never vocally admit that.

She can only image how much Rachel and possibly Cammie would tease her if they knew. Joe would never let her hear the end of it either.

Yeah, definitely a situation she would love to avoid.

"Don't pretend you're actually mad," Abby says, simply, her eyes dancing with amusement. Her gaze follows his movements as he travels through the small kitchen. "Because we both know you're not."

He can hear the playfulness laced in her voice before she takes another sip of her coffee.

That much is true. He's not mad. He's amused actually.

If he's being honest, he loves her like this – early in the morning, dressed in his shirt with bed head that she doesn't care enough to fix, and a coffee mug. Her voice still thick with sleep and her eyes – greenest in the morning, all jades and emeralds swirling together in the morning light.

Her eyes in the mornings are his favorite.

He loves how relaxed and playful she is in the mornings, he loves that she feels comfortable enough around him to steal his shirts. That she feels comfortable enough to be this open with him, not giving anything a second thought.

This Abby is his favorite.

If it was being honest, he probably would never tire of early morning Abby. He's become so accustomed to mornings with her – he couldn't image one without her. He wouldn't want to either.

He would never vocally admit that. He'd never hear the end of it – especially from Solomon. He's sure he'd even get some from Zach.

That's a situation he'd much rather avoid.

His favorite part is when he finally gets the shirt back and it still smells faintly of her. Of course, he'd never actually admit that. Just like Abby will never actually admit that she loves the feel of his shirts against her skin.

And of course he loves the way she looks in his shirt – the crisp material against her porcelain skin that looks so great on her. He swears she does it on purpose because she knows what it does to him.

Of course she does. Because she loves the reaction she gets from him and where they usually end up. He'd be lying if he said he didn't love it too.

That's it.

He's not sure he can even concentrate on breakfast anymore.

Especially not when she's standing there, dressed in his shirt. Not when she looks more beautiful than he's ever seen her.

He sets the pan on the counter and turns the stove off. In one quick movement, he's standing in front of her and removing the mug from her hands.

She releases the cup with a weak protest. Really, she doesn't care – not when she knows exactly where this is going. There will always be time for coffee afterwards.

"Took you long enough," Abby teases, smirking, once again getting under his skin.

They may have come such a long way since they first met but some things never change. He may never get annoyed with the bickering back and forth in the mornings. Secretly, he looks forward to it.

Arms wrap around each other as lips meet, wiping the smirk right off her face. Abby lets out an uncharacteristic giggle as she's lifted onto the counter top.

Breakfast can wait.


End file.
